


For Alexander, Politicians Aren't Always the Enemies

by imnotyourhamilson



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: American Revolution, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M, taking a bath together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 21:13:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5759032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imnotyourhamilson/pseuds/imnotyourhamilson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a constant montage of words and ideas that provoke the unsettling fire inside Alexander Hamilton’s mind. He won’t rest, he won’t take a break, he will never pause in order for his thoughts to be published on paper and shoved into someone’s face. But there are moments that are less than satisfactory. </p><p>~</p><p>Alexander can't find his words so John is there to help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Alexander, Politicians Aren't Always the Enemies

There is a constant montage of words and ideas that provoke the unsettling fire inside Alexander Hamilton’s mind. He won’t rest, he won’t take a break, he will never pause in order for his thoughts to be published on paper and shoved into someone’s face. But there are moments that are less than satisfactory. Vulnerability lurks behind Alexander and when the words can’t seem to get onto the page, his old enemy sneaks up on him. I learned many years ago that this enemy never does leave his side and sometimes it steps right in front of him and prevents him from moving forward. 

Frustration. That has always been the first stage. I always try to avoid his small fits of passion and anger but there is a pull in my heart that won’t allow me to stay away. I’ll poke my head into his office after knocking quietly on the wood with chipping paint in enough time to witness him crumble yet another piece of paper in his hands and toss it towards the accumulating pile on the floor. I wait for the cursing to die down before I call to him. “Alexander,” I plead. “Please, take a break. Perhaps the words will find their way back to you in awhile? I request that you give it some time.” I never take it too personally but he always responds with annoyance clawing at his words.

My proposal, without fail, causes Alexander to chuckle with unbelievable sarcasm. “My dear Laurens,” he says, each word deliberately pronounced on his tongue. “I don’t even know the meaning of the phrase _’take a break_ ’.” 

Once, he threw his ink bottle at me and the liquid inside splattered against the door like smashed blueberries. I still haven’t repainted the door. 

Like I said, I never take it personally. Alexander is a passionate man and I respect his valid feelings when it comes to his craft. I understand why he wants his work to breathe eloquence because it was his own words that yanked him out of the hurricane. So, I leave him to his endeavors.

Isolation comes next. This is my least favorite part. Alexander either storms out and makes his way over to the nearest tavern or locks himself in his room. There isn’t anything I can do to break through that wall and I feel completely helpless. 

There was a time a few years back when I gained the courage to actually follow him as he stumbled down the street. Picking fights or finding refuge in a small glass of whiskey were the things I witnessed. 

Yes, I understand that even I clenched my hand into a tight fist when I felt that dissatisfaction and even I ached for that burn of alcohol when I couldn’t handle things any longer. But that didn’t mean I wanted Alexander to do the same. Vices were hard to ignore yet I wanted him to realize that I was an expert for care. 

The final stage is utter disbelief with enraged undertones. Next to isolation, this is the part that scares me the most. When he bursts through the door returning from the tavern or when he finally emerges from his room, all hell breaks loose. “Laurens, _I just don’t understand_ ,” he cries, crumpled sheets of papers with words from the past shoved into my face. “Please, tell me how I can write so eloquently one moment and the next I don’t even have the ability to conjure up something even remotely interesting.”

“Alexander, please,” I replied, digging my fingers into his tight shoulders. “You know that isn’t true.”

“Listen to me,” he pleaded in a low voice that was watery with the alcohol he carelessly consumed. “Laurens, please listen to me. I’m-”

“I _am_ ,” I whispered, my tone teetering on grievance. “I’m also asking you to listen to me.” The pressure of my fingertips sinking into the hardness of his bones seemed to catch his attention. His sad, brown eyes flickered up to my face and he looked at me like a desperate kitten. His hair had fallen out of its ponytail and the dark waves brushed his shoulders and fell in front of his eyes. I gingerly stroked his pink-flushed cheeks with the pads of my thumbs and watched as he fell apart in my arms. “Alexander,” I breathed. “Allow me to persuade you… Just this one time.”

Alexander’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion and there was an emotion that swam in his eyes that I couldn’t quite decipher. “You don’t understand,” he muttered. “It has to be perfect.” 

“Alex,” I begged but I couldn’t seem to break through that wall he was constantly modifying so that not even the strongest human could get through. So I stared impotently as he groggily twisted out of my arms and retreated back to his bedroom. About an hour later, I found him lying in our bed, curled into a fetal position with the exhausted blankets wrapped around him like armor. 

I wish I could help him. I wish I could advise him to look around and see what an impact he makes on anyone he can capture the attention of. _God_ , why doesn’t realize how intelligent he is? My life wouldn’t be the same without his brilliance and the paragraphs he constructed into meaningful concepts wouldn’t evolve like blueprints of buildings.

Unfortunately, I don’t have any power in this situation. There are some cases where I do have the ability to assert my influence and dominance upon him. For example, I can recall the times when he would beg me to govern him until he was truly spent. But Alexander’s mind was too complex and there wasn’t a soul in this world that could convince him otherwise. 

So I did the only other thing I could do well. 

About twenty minutes later, our porcelain bathtub was filled with water warmed from a fire that was laced with a fine soap I picked up from a shop in Paris. The amorous scent of chamomile tickled my nose and I couldn’t help but to let out a sigh. Comfort can always works wonders and my motherly virtues were beginning to arise. I only wanted Alexander to feel loved in order for the weakness to reside for only just a moment. 

Wearing only my undershirt and breeches, I abandoned the bathroom where the steam was clinging to the mirror and approached his door which was cracked open invitingly. I rapped my knuckles softly on the wood before entering the room. I called out to him but didn’t receive a response so I tiptoed over to the edge of his bed, gingerly reaching out my hand. My fingers found the grooves of his spine and from that touch alone, Alexander began to sob. My face twisted into despair from the sounds eliciting from the one I love. This was never easy.

I blew a tiny puff of air through my teeth to silently persuade him to stop crying but really, it was more like a soothing gesture. Alexander turned in our bed and held his arms out to me like a small child and whimpered. Fat tears rolled down his sunken cheeks and his eyes were bloodshot and tired. “Everything will be alright, my love,” I whispered to him as I gathered his frail frame into my arms. 

Moments after I carefully removed his and I’s clothing, Alexander’s face was tucked into the crook of my neck as the hot water engulfed us. It was a miracle that we both fit into the medium sized tub knowing that Alexander basically had to lay on top of me in order to be comfortable. My back was pressed up against the cold edge of the tub and the tips of my hair were beginning to frizz from the humidity. Suds clung to Alexander’s olive skin and he clung to me like a newborn child. Seconds passed before a sentence was uttered.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a voice so quiet and scared it seemed as if all of the pet-like sly he once embodied had abandoned him.

“Alex, no,” I rushed, tangling my fingers into this wet hair and forcing him to look into my eyes. “There is no need to apologize.”

“Whenever this predicament finds its way back to me,” he began, staring at me as if I held all of the answers. “I never know what to do. I know the words are there, John, _I know it_. So why can’t I find them?”

I cautiously brushed my thumb over his cheekbone and smiled sadly. “I wish you knew how brilliant you are Alex-”

“I do,” he interrupted without even a single thought.

“Then the words never left, my love. It just takes a little digging.”

A small, relieved smile pulled at the edges of his rosy lips in a silent thank you so I leaned forward and connected our lips, feeling my heart flutter in excitement likes it does everytime we kiss. 

“I wish, my dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by action rather than words, to convince you that I love you,” Alexander whispered against my neck. 

“There’s no need for that,” I laughed softly, pulling him closer. “I already know.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have no regrets writing this and I hope you guys liked it! <33


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